unbidden

Looking back, it’s in fragments. Go nowhere stories, and tacked on motivations. It got me this far we all blurt and yap. It’s the way that made me, like that’s any excuse. For those left to the scrapyard of human existence, we tend to accumulate a lot of conditionals. All these if thens that broke bad. All those clauses that ended contradicted. The day to day fending off predators and petty criminals, getting taken down one heart break at a time.

It’s there by the hour, the push of light, the blot of wall. The pieced together play by play, poor rewards and meager features. This blur and beleaguer, trust paid in IOUs, the language torn limb from limb by reckless dissemblers and live by liars. Measured by the silence that attends each entrance, the stillness of every countenance as the say is had. All us outsiders bearing their unseen sigils. All us sacrifices waiting for the cull.

There is the room, the books and letters. There is the room, crowded with dogs and dust. Even the occupant knows this isn’t his story. All the keepsakes and tchotchkes, mementos and souvenirs, the photographs and memories with the Jim Croce cue— every treasure window dressing waiting for the curtain to fall. The terrible truth plods on while pictures are painted and alibis sold, words piled high as the empty takes each day. Words busy with their business as the graves go unmarked. The words keep on unbidden.